


Sea Nymph’s Call

by LuchaDoRa (italic_ink)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Canon-Typical Violence, ColonialRedCoat!Jack, Colonialism, Eventual Smut, F/F, Graphic Description of Corpses, Historical Elements, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Manipulation, PirateCaptain!Hannibal, Slow Burn, merman!will
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/italic_ink/pseuds/LuchaDoRa
Summary: ~"Humans don't eat other humans." Will said matter-of-factly, looking at Hannibal dead in the eye. "They aren't supposed to."Hannibal stared back, smiling softly. The knowledge behind Will's accusation didn't frighten him. He pointed at Will's untouched plate. "And yet, between the creature who isn't meant to and the creature that is, I seem to be doing enough eating for the both of us, considering it's you who issupposedto."~~Merman/Pirate AU.{Currently on HIATUS}





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! After a bit of a break I’ve found my love of fic writing again. This was was inspired by moodboards on the Instagram account [mydxsign](https://www.instagram.com/mydxsign/) that I’ll link for you [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BubvytRgAnY/) and [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/BuggpfIAL_J/) .
> 
> The caption mentioned turning it into a fic with a couple of interesting ideas, and I couldn’t think of anything else until I spewed them from my creative brain banks. Also I'm a sucker for historical hannigram. I avoided all my responsibilities and re-watched the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise again for the umpteenth time just to get in the mood for this and have no regrets whatsoever.

 

 _December,_ _1648_ _CE - Some twenty years ago_

 

If the Sun was capable of rising and setting, it would have set over an hour ago, dipping below the frozen horizon and casting an eerie nocturnal light on the icebergs that lodged themselves in the sub-zero waters. However, it was a winter too far North to have a sunrise, giving the Arctic entire weeks, even months, blanketed in darkness. Much like the icebergs, there was far more to be seen below the surface of the water than above it at this time of year.

Timmy perched on the edge of the small ship and breathed out a cloud of ice. It spread past his lips that had chapped from the cold. He licked them and rubbed his hands together for warmth.

“Keep moving, lad. Idle bodies lose their blood in these frozen waters.” The ship’s Quartermaster barked and thrust a mop at him and it stunted him into motion. He rigorously scrubbed away at the deck floor till the Quartermaster was out of sight, then he straightened himself up to pause and continue admiring the view.

Timmy was the Cabin Boy, barely touching seventeen. He wanted to learn the secrets of the sea since he was young. He had learned the hard way that waiting around after the senior members of the crew, handing their uniforms, running errands and serving under them was not all a sailor’s apprenticeship appeared to be on the barrel when he blindly accepted, too sick of England and too desperate for change to refuse the once-in-a-lifetime offer.

“Slacking again, Timothy? Shall I inform the Captain?”

Timmy jumped and thrust himself back to the mop, head down. “No, sir.”

The Quartermaster laughed. “No one ever said sailing was easy, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now what is that’s caught your eye out there?”

“Nothing sir.”

“Staring at nothing?”

Timmy bit his lip, knowing lying wouldn’t help. “The Northern lights. Sir.” He added, quickly.

The Quartermaster raised his head. “Pretty, aren’t they?”

Timmy allowed himself to look up, at the reflects of blue and green that spanned out across the winter sky. They were captivating. One short look would keep you looking for eternity.

The elder man chuckled again. “Not all things that are pretty are good. The creatures here wade after these lights. Best we get out of these forsaken waters quickly. Any place where the sun don’t rise is unholy. Pirates are not the only ones to be afraid of out here.”

Timmy furrowed his brow. “Creatures?”

“No, I don’t suppose you’ve heard the stories. What do you know of mermaids, boy?”

Timmy rested himself against the mop stick. “I- I heard that their kiss saves a sailor from drowning.”

The Quartermaster bellowed out a burst of hearty laughter. “That’s the bedtime story they tell children. You aren’t a child anymore, are you?”

“No, sir.” Timmy said with conviction, unconsciously straightening out his posture to make himself look taller and broader. He was a man now.

“Then I’ll have you know, that mermaids are the most vicious of creatures. They lure you in with their songs, their angelic voices. Lure you right into your watery grave, where they feast on your flesh in great numbers.”

Timmy wasn’t aware of the tremble that ran through him.

“Oh yes,” The Quartermaster continued, sensing the trepidation in the younger boy. “They leave nothing to waste. No trace of you left to send home to your parents, just your soul to find its way to Davy Jones’ Locker. Not a caring bone in their filthy half-breed bodies.”

Timmy didn’t know what to say. He had paled. The Quartermaster slapped the back of his shoulder in an attempt to shake some life back into him. “The sooner you rid yourself of those childhood stories, boy, the better. You might just survive out here.”

 

\-- 

 

That night, Timmy dreamed of mermaids that sang to him with sharp teeth and hair so long that his entire body tangled in its strands, covering his mouth. He was drowning in the mermaid’s hair, unable to breathe or scream for help as it encased him.

He woke with a start, sweat on his brow. He sat up in his hammock, looking around to get his bearings of the lower decks. Everyone else around him was still asleep in their own hammocks, but fear coursed so deeply through him that he couldn’t settle back into rest. Sighing, Timmy swung his legs over the edge of the fabric and pulled on his boots. He picked up the lantern on his way out, avoiding the odd creaky step as he made his way to the upper deck.

It was deserted. Everyone had completely retired for the night, and with the absence of a sunrise, it was impossible for him to tell if it was late or the early hours of the morning. Timmy shivered; he was only wearing his sleep tunic and britches and hadn’t anticipated just how cold it would be, despite spending the evening out in it earlier. A mist had begun to settle in the air. He looked up at the sky. The aurora was still there, though not as prevalent.

Timmy set the lantern down to rest and gazed up at it anyway, already feeling lighter. The beauty of the light display calmed his frayed nerves, smoothing out the last remnants of the dream. He sighed of relief and satisfaction and his breath condensed in front of his eyes.

It was then that he heard it. It was a soft call; melodic, curious.

"Timmy..."

He bolted straight, like a rod extended in his spine. He gripped up the lantern to swing it around with him for light. “Who goes there?” He turned around to check all corners of the deck, but no one was aboard.

The song-call came again, and Timmy looked out to sea, where it was coming from. The mist had thickened around the ship, ensuing into a fog that made it difficult to see. Timmy squinted his eyes and tried to look as far out to sea as he could. There was a figure perched upon an iceberg, but it was difficult to make it out. It was only when it began to sing in a haunting hollow tone that Timmy realised.

"No!" He flung his hands over his ears, dropping the lantern in the process. It fell to the floor and smashed, the candlelight going out with a delicate hiss. It was the mermaid's song calling him to his death- just like the Quartermaster had warned him. But it was like the aurora lights; the more he looked, the more he wanted to keep looking at the figure on the iceberg. It barely moved but continued to sing in a language that wove intelligible words into the vocals.

"I won't hurt you." the voice came clear, lone and echoing, somehow penetrating through his attempts to block the voice out. It would have been a smart move to run back below deck and shut his eyes till the living nightmare was over, and though Timmy tried to move, he couldn't move an inch. He felt compelled to stay, to watch, to listen.

"That's it," The voice said, tenderly. "I'm not as bad as you think, am I?"

No- it really wasn't that bad, was it? Hesitantly, Timmy dropped his hands from his ears to his sides.

"Good sailor. You want to listen, don't you?"

Timmy nodded slowly, transfixed. He did want to listen. How could something so beautiful be so deadly?

"Come closer and you will hear me better."

His legs began moving almost of their own accord. He loosened the ropes of the rowboat and took the oars, readying himself to lower into the ocean. Once he was at sea level, he began rowing towards the iceberg, not once taking his eyes off the mermaid as he rowed closer. It didn't even feel cold anymore. Was someone shouting his name back on board? He couldn't tell over the beckoning melody. He just wanted to get closer to the voice-

"Keep going, you are doing so well. You're almost there."

With no lantern and no sunlight, the aurora's light was the only source of direction that he had. On closer inspection, Timmy found that the mermaid was, in fact, a merman. His hair was ear-length, messy curls that framed a defined jaw. He had not stopped singing, and his ethereal vocals begun to climax as Timmy's boat bumped into the ice. Timmy stood, the motion swaying him slightly. It was just him and the merman. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else was real.

"Now, Will!"

It was a voice similar to the merman's, but it wasn't his. The merman made no acknowledgement of the order that had been barked to him, only leaned forwards in his perched position from the tip of the iceberg to look down at the human below him. Timmy stared into his eyes that were glossy like green seaweed and bluer than the ocean itself. It was like the aurora had condensed into two orbs. It only further entranced him, and Timmy thought for a second that they softened with something close to sadness.

"Take him, now!" another voice said. The merman acknowledged this and with a resulting sigh, turned his head away from his prey.

"I cannot." He said, looking resigned. Timmy thought through his haze that even an expression of sorrow looked wondrous on such stunning features.

"Pathetic!" Timmy heard something snarl at the merman before two similar creatures launched themselves at him from their hidden spot. Two sets of hands with firm claws grabbed at him - one settling into the weak flesh of his neck, another at the belly - tipping the boat and sending him flying into the water. his blood had spoiled the ocean like a red ink splatter, pooling around his soon-to-be corpse as the merpeople pulled on his limbs from a multiple of directions. The light from the aurora began to fade, eventually succumbing to the black.

The last thought Timmy had as his body was ripped to shreds was of the beautiful merman who was too empathetic and spared his life, rather than taking it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The stillness of the water was interrupted by the emergence of a body from the depths. Head first, arms second to slide back the hair that had plastered itself to the man’s forehead. There was no gasp of his air intake because he didn’t breathe oxygen. The being was not a man in entirety.

He dipped himself back into the water, rocking with the natural waves as he surveyed his surroundings. It would be foolish to come to the surface so exposed and alone; merfolk could never be too careful where human hunters and extreme measures they took were involved, but he didn’t find it in him to care.

Merpeople may have had the torso of them, and if submerged from the hip down in the water, it would almost appear that they were human - although the sight of one naked in the freezing water was no less conspicuous than a creature of the depths. Instead of where his legs should have been, there was a majestic tail of lagoon green-blue. Will, the Warrior.

When he confirmed that the area was undisturbed, he dove deep back into the water and reemerged at speed, using the upthrust of the motion to surface completely upon the flat ice plain. He clung onto it with abnormally thick, slightly pointed nails that were perfectly adapted to rip apart solid glaciers into cubes, webbed at the base of his fingers for swimming. In his left arm, he carried a dead seal, hauling its cold body onto the ice with him.

He hadn't intended to kill it. It had attacked him and he instinctively lashed out and sunk his claws into its neck, but only partway in his hesitance, so instead ended up slashing at it, both fatally wounding it and delaying its death. It was bleeding out slowly and moaning from the pain, and he had the mercy to put it out of its misery. He couldn’t leave it to suffer. Now that it was dead, its body couldn't go to waste.

He ripped apart the carcass, diving into the blubber meat and ripping it apart with his bicuspids. A kill like this would usually have been brought back to the rest of the tribe to share, but Will couldn't face them with a half-excuse of prey after his incident. It had been his chance to prove his capability, and he had thrown it to the sharks.

Will couldn't help it. He had looked in the boy's eyes after he promised himself he wouldn't look. He wasn't allowed to look. Will saw himself in his eyes and he couldn't do it. Feeling pitiful, he ripped apart the seal's tail and chewed it down.

There was a gruff snarl next to him, and Will turned to see a polar bear wandering towards him. It shuffled closer over to him, sniffing the meat in short huffs. Will let out a small smile of appreciation. Polar bears were such amazing creatures. They were one of the few creatures that braved the dark winter.

"Hello. What's your name?"

The polar bear looked at him with black, empty eyes.

"Hm. I think I shall name you... Winston." He tore off some of the seal meat and tossed it in its direction. The bear moved forwards to claim it, hungrily. He tore through it quickly and sidled over for more.

The breeze fluttered over them both, and he ran his hand through Winston's fur. Will's own skin was thick to prevent him feeling too much of the cold, but the hairs on his body stood on end anyway. He watched with fascination. It was the part-mammalian in him.

Will craned his neck to the black sky, waiting for the auroras to appear. He had surfaced methodically just like this since the first light appeared, and with the four that followed after the first, he had returned and reported it to his fellow folk.

The fifth one was an important one. It highlighted the start of the true Winter Solstice. Through thousands of years of tradition, it also marked the migration of merpeople further south for the young, who were more vulnerable to the winter cold and dark. They would spend the first few months of their lives in coral reefs and warmer waters before returning to the Arctic by the March Equinox.

He looked back over at Winston, who, along with the seal carcass, had disappeared. Surprised, Will looked behind him to find the bear making off with the rest of his kill but couldn't find it in him to be mad at the creature who was just trying to survive. Maybe even had cubs.

Eventually, the aurora spread through the sky as if it cracked open the darkness, the blue and green light stretching out in expanse. Will waited for a few minutes longer than he should have; leaning back onto his hands to appreciate the beautiful display. It was more than just survival. There was a great beauty to simply being alive.

When he couldn’t delay it any longer, Will leaned forwards and dived back to the water, swimming deep below into the underwater caves to inform his people.

 

\-- 

 

The journey would take the merpeople a few weeks at most. They swam with the young beside them, alternating between that and carrying them in their arms when their baby tails tired. Those who didn’t hatch in time were left behind. Only the strongest would survive in such a harsh world.

Will watched as a mermaid struggled with two in her arm. He swam over to her.

“Allow me to help.” He offered, and she was taken aback at the generosity. Merfolk were not known for their gentle natures.

She hesitated, not wanting to look weak, but her protective nature eventually won over her pride, and she handed one of them over. Will lifted him and looked into his sleeping face.

“Twins?”

“Hatched from the same spawn. Such a rare occurrence that I couldn’t bear to separate them.”

“I imagine that must have caused some dispute.” Will commented.

“I was accused of being greedy, yes.”

Will said nothing at this. The concept of parenthood was unheard of among the merpeople. They merspawn would be lain in caves together, and the people would take it among themselves to raise the first youngling they came across. Will himself had never felt an urge to venture into the spawn caves to acquire a youngling to raise, he would rather leave the procreating and raising to others.

 

Soon the waters became tepid. The colours changed the further South the merfolk travelled, the seabeds littered with an abundance of coral reefs and exotic sea life. The sun even began making its appearance daily, the time it spent out to play lengthening each day as they approached the hotter climate.

It was the final nightfall they’d spend before they’d reach the new caves. All manner of nocturnal creatures habituated in the tropical sea, some of them glowed luminescent. Will watched them, fascinated.

“Humans! Get back!”

The creatures quickly skimmed away out of sight at the warning, their senses just as finely attuned. Will snapped his head upwards to the ocean surface and saw a ship pass over; the vast shadow of it covered them. By its size, it looked to be a colonial crosser heading to the New World.

"It's not a hunter ship," Will called out, trying to elicit a sense of calm. "It will pass over us."

"We are not going take the risk with the newly hatched." Another merman snapped at him as he glided past him, almost barging his way through him. The merfolk crowded closer together in careful formation, the young in the middle and the stronger ones on the outer edge. They weren't far from land, and the ship would soon port and anchor.

"Keep moving, we must get as far from the port as possible." A hand shoved him from behind, encouraging him to swim.

Just as Will began to move, there was a splash from above as a body dived into the water. Will could feel the vibrations of the movement rippling against his skin. It prickled him like a warning.

"Fall back, protect the young!"

The merfolk scurried around him, heading for the coral to hide in. Will turned back up to look at the human to see if others were coming to join him but there was only one body in the water. Then Will saw he was still wearing a heavy coat and his boots. He was not a diver.

"It's not a hunter." Will realised aloud. It was an elder boy, or at least a very young man, scrawny with no strength of any kind to haul himself back up to breathe air with the weight of his clothing pulling him down. Will didn't want to see his body scraped off the seabed and fed to the younglings. He couldn't watch that happen twice, not with Timmy still so fresh in his mind. He was kicking, still attempting to cling to the life left in him. Surely, if he was fighting so aggressively for it, he deserved to live?

Will was drifting upwards without realising.

"Will! Don't you dare-!"

The warning was enough to make him move, and he swam as fast he could through the water towards the young man. When Will reached him, the last of his air bubbles were leaving his mouth. Will gripped his wrist and swam upwards, pulling him up to the surface to breathe. The man gasped, heaved in the air like he had been starved for a lifetime instead of a few minutes.

Before he had barely caught his breath back, he looked properly at Will and exclaimed something in a language that sounded Eastern European. Will guessed it was rather from the shock than from ignorance. A Mother Tongue could never be truly unlearned. The man widened his eyes at the sight of Will as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing in front of him. Will couldn't blame him. Minutes from his own death or, by the very least, unconsciousness and delirium, Will might have questioned reality as well. Without wasting any more time, he curved an arm around the waist of the man from behind and took off towards the direction of the shoreline.

Will was a swift swimmer, but by the time he had managed to pull the human to the beach with the help of the tide - his wet clothes had not helped Will with dragging him - the man had lost consciousness. Will feared for a moment that he might be dead, and flopped him onto his back so he could check for a heartbeat. It was fast-paced and strong under Will's ear, courtesy to the lack of oxygen he had been subjected to not a few moments ago. Will straightened up. He was a strong one, capable of surviving in the harsh world he was well accustomed to.

Will tapped him twice with the back of his hand on his face in a half-hearted attempt to rouse him, before deciding to leave him be. The action made Will more aware of his face. Up close it was revealed that the man was not as young as Timmy was, as Will had originally thought, but the bone structure of his face and the smooth charm of his features still gave him a youthful air of a man who was only just flowering in his twenties. Regardless, he was far too skinny to be considered healthy and it emphasised them further. Will pulled the wretched overcoat from the man's lifeless form and wrung out the water from it. He replaced the coat instead over the top of him like a blanket, hoping it would be enough to keep warm till he was found. This was where Will left.

With a sense of reluctance, Will finally returned to the ocean where he belonged.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I had to begin with an OC, but the rest of the story is solely focused on the characters we love, I promise. I just had to get the ball rolling. We get to see Pirate!Hani properly in the next chapter! And eventually we’ll get round to the other characters too as we go.
> 
> Everything I write about the merfolk is either from the top of my head or from these very detailed and helpful [prompts.](https://merprompts.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I haven’t written properly in ages so I’m rusty with my writing (and have no beta, yikes), so I would love any and all criticism :3 Please be blunt but not rude, because well... we know what happens to the rude. 
> 
> Ta! See you in the next one :)


	2. All Aboard

_November 1668 CE_

 

Almost twenty winters had passed since Hannibal Lecter's journey over the sea from France to the Caribbean Islands. He was no longer the scrawny young lad he once was, courtesy to his breadth that had filled out over the years of working hard manual labour - although those years were long behind him. He had grown into an intimidating individual not just by gait but also by personality, which had only been strengthened by his experiences.  
  
He tilted his head at an angle to make his jaw protrude upwards before running the blade against his chin to scrape off the stubble that was beginning to grow there. The polished silver plaque in front of him relayed his reflection back at him. There was a slight crinkle to his smile, his hair no longer as dark as it was. Still, he had no aura of an aging man. He had an unfading vigour in his muscles and a gleam in his eyes.

Hannibal straightened the buckles on his waistcoat and pulled on his coat, preening himself a final time before leaving his cabin to make himself towards the bridge of the _Whaitri_. His ship was a two-masted brigantine of beauty. Her wood was oak, lavished with wax paint. The idea that a captain was attached to his ship did not swerve past Hannibal. He belonged to the ship as a chef would to the kitchen of a manor. It was his home.

The crew busied themselves about the ship as Hannibal drew himself up to Chiyoh, who was steering.

"Morning, sir."

"Hm. Doesn't look to be a good one, does it?" Hannibal looked up at the clouds.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Tack the sails, the wind will be pulling strong soon."

"Aye, sir. Tack the sails!"

Hannibal watched the scurry of crew members up the rigging to the top beams.

"I am surprised you didn't think to tell them that earlier yourself." Hannibal kept his gaze forwards, smirking ever so slightly.

"I was aware. Simply waiting for your confirmation." Chiyoh didn't bat an eyelid.

There was no member of the crew more worthy of being First Mate than Chiyoh. Hannibal knew this, Chiyoh knew this. Members of the crew also believed this, though they weren't aware of Chiyoh's truth, as Hannibal was. If it were exposed to what she truly was, they would swallow their words and turn on both Chiyoh for deceiving them and Hannibal for allowing it.

Hannibal trusted her with his life - a burden not to be put on just anyone. In turn, Chiyoh had to watch his back because, without his influence, Chiyoh would be just as good as dead. Then, without Chiyoh, Hannibal would be dead too. It was a cycle of protection and trust that circled them both. Secrets kept, unspoken oaths sworn, loyalty earned. Though he was capable of astonishing things, being out outnumbered by an entire mutinous crew would not tip scales in Hannibal's favour. He was after all, only human.  
  
"Be sure to have the Cabin Boy go on a pest hunt later today. I heard creaking in the lower decks that sounded suspiciously like rats. I suspect the meat has been left out again." Hannibal commented and smiled softly to himself.

"It is a shame about our Quartermaster." He added as an afterthought. "I was hoping today would be the day you finally take up my offer of promotion."

"I am content with my position, Captain. Second in command is not for someone like me. It draws far too much unwanted attention." Chiyoh added, adjusting the hat over her head so it settled lower down. "Regardless, my skills are better suited as the ship's navigator."  
  
Hannibal's smile didn't fade. "I suspected as much. He will need replacing. I had grown rather fond of the way the crew would respond to his usual call."

As tradition suggested, the late Quartermaster would always announce the Captain's arrival on the bridge, making the crew's backs almost instantly become that much straighter in attention as if it were a command.

"Already the crew are becoming restless to vote for a new one." Chiyoh informed.

Hannibal was well aware of this but shrugged the notion away. "The last voting was an immeasurable failure. Why such savages attempt to value the code when they can hardly keep their own word is the height of my irritation. I won't make the same mistake of allowing them to pick."

Chiyoh, who was used to the Captain demeanor, was not outraged or even surprised at his decision, but was clear in expressing her own disagreement.

"The crew must vote, sir, should you will find yourself outvoted. Or even - forbid the thought - mutinied upon." She raised a quick brow, voice low, lest someone overhear and have the idea unthinkably planted in their brain.

Hannibal raised an eyebrow of equal angle. He turned to look at Chiyoh with a practiced look of indifference, and his own voice didn't lower. "Let them try."

The breeze fluttered the silver of Hannibal's hair as he watched the crew go about their duties.

"We'll make port and hire more crew. Someone who isn't moronic must be up to it."

"The closest port is Tortuga, Captain." Chiyoh reminded him of his distaste for the particular pirate-friendly port.

Even though he was a pirate himself, Hannibal was known for his good mannerisms. It was almost unheard of for a pirate to be well-mannered considering their occupations, but Hannibal had never enjoyed conforming to stereotypes. He had learned all the tricks of the trade in his youth working as a privateer - the legal pirate, as they would say - when he first came to the Caribbean. He was an amateur navigator back then, learning the skies like a map and leaving for his own gain when he had learned all there was to learn. He passed the knowledge to Chiyoh on acquiring the _Whaitri_.

Even back then, he had not cowered at the law and hesitated in breaking the conformity. Now, the Code of Piracy may have been something he ought to follow, but the consequences of not upholding them didn't scare him in the slightest. If he wasn't scared of the official law, why would he be afraid of unwritten rules some fool thought up while drunk on too much rum?

However, just as he was famous for his manner, he was equally as infamous for his lack of quarter. There was no mercy, no second chances. The mysterious sudden death of his late Quartermaster was proof of that.

"Unlucky." Hannibal sighed. "How long till the next closest port, Chiyoh?"

"Nine sunsets at least."

Hannibal considered the preposterous idea briefly before shaking it away. "That is far too long; not worth the trouble of the journey for what we need. Especially considering we don't know who we'll come across out there. At least in Tortuga, I know of one imbecile capable of the job; an old friend. We'll bring back some more crew members too, I imagine some will want to jump ship." He nodded his head at the finality of the decision. "To Tortuga then."

"Aye sir, Tortuga."

 

\--

  
Tortuga was maddening in every sense. Drunks, scallywags of all the worst kinds and even defamed noblemen wallowed in the cesspools there. There was no order of any kind, with people engaging in infuriatingly rude behavior out on the streets. Hannibal may have been an outlaw, but at least he still carried his dignity.

"Every return back to this place is a reminder of why to never return." He commented under his breath, almost overwhelmed by the smell that was short-circuiting his heightened sense. He swiftly dodged a man soaked in rum from collapsing on him and made his way in the direction he came from; the pub.

The only benefit of the pub was that the rum wasn't terrible- at least, it wasn't before it went sour - not that the people here seemed to care either way. He sat down with a bottle anyway, purposefully choosing a table in the corner so he wasn't so exposed to the boisterous customers.

"I'll be damned. Hannibal Lecter."

Hannibal turned to the sound of the familiar voice.

"I knew I'd find you in here, Chilton."

Chilton wobbled a little as he made his way over to him. He was holding a wooden cane, resting on it as he moved to join Hannibal at the table.

"Obviously. You were the one who left me here to rot, and rotting is what I'm doing." He waved his arms with a little too much motion than was necessary for the sentence. He was clearly drunk.

Hannibal tilted up the bottle and grimaced when the liquid touched his lips. He swallowed it down quickly before he spoke, pushing aside the rest of it. "You brought that on yourself."

Chilton picked up the abandoned bottle and eyed it carefully. "Ah yes, nothing is ever your fault, is it?"

"Naturally." Hannibal watched as Chilton carelessly lifted the bottle and swallowed down more drink.

"You'll have to excuse me," He began. "My good taste and manners have all but been thwarted by this place. Exposure to such behaviour does that to you."

"You'll be quick to relearn them." Hannibal noticed a deep scar in his cheek that he wasn't there before. "That one looks new."

Chilton knew what he was referring to. "Stab wound. It wasn't deep enough to kill me, but the sepsis almost was. I'm lucky to be alive."

"Then you must have as many lives as a cat."

"As do you. But promise we aren't going to test this hypothesis? I don't intend on dancing with death yet another time." Chilton narrowed his eyes.

"Neither do I. But I have a proposition for you."

"Oh, do you now? And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Hannibal smiled. "I require a new Quartermaster and since you're apt with medicine, a ship surgeon too. My previous one has, unfortunately, found himself... indisposed."

"By that you mean dead. And is that what's to become of me when I don't live up to your expectations?"

Hannibal had to give him credit. Even drunk, he was a clever man.

"I suggest you live up to them."

Chilton did not answer to that. He lifted the bottle.

"It is because of _you_ that I'm here in the first place. I was doing well, Lecter. You were ready for the noose, they had you. You manipulated me into helping you escape and then you threw me here. I can never go back to Port Royal with a warrant on me for aiding and abetting a pirate."

Hannibal listened carefully and considered his words before he said: "Then it seems you have two options."

Chilton massaged his head, already looking deflated. "And they are?"

"Stay here and continue to rot, or join my crew."

Chilton looked up and stared at Hannibal. All the while, a drunk woman staggered over towards them. She opened her mouth in an attempt to flirt, but was far too drunk and retched on the table. Hannibal leaned back at the surprise, smiling, despite himself. He motioned at her to Chilton as if it all reinforced his point.

"There is another benefit," Hannibal added on top of all the ruckus. "The rum on board is delectably better than the vinegar you drink here."

Chilton pressed his lips together. It was the last straw.

 

\--

 

"There are rules you have to follow when aboard my ship. Keep to them and all will be well." Hannibal said as they boarded the next morning. One crew member carrying a crate of limes attempted to maneuver around them, but Chilton unknowingly hit his foot with the end of his cane, almost toppling it all over.

"Watch it, pisspot!" He shouted, making Chilton jump.

Hannibal made an exasperated expression. "The first one would be to keep your wits about you, Chilton."

"I have spent the last year in Tortuga, I have my wits about me. I am just a little... hungover." he pressed his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyelids.

"Your disability won't hinder you in your duty." Hannibal nodded at the cane. "You are not the only one on board the ship with one."

Hannibal lead Chilton to the lee side of the ship, where a large man was sat on a barrel. He had both legs stretched out in front of him, but one was a peg.

Chilton halted in his tracks; it wasn't the pegged leg that made him go close to sail-white with fear, that was new. What he recognised was the hands; skilled with a scalpel and scabbed at the knuckles. The same hands that gave the blasted stick. Though it would seem ironic that the man had received his karma.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Abel Gideon." Chilton raised both brows when he saw his face in an attempt to smother over his obvious discomfort in favour of surprise. It wasn't as if he could forget.

"Chilton. I never thought I'd see your miserable looking scumbag face again." Even through the surprise, the hatred was evident on both their expressions. "Though it's looking definitively more miserable than I remember." Gideon motioned to the scar.

"I would say it's good to see you're still in one piece, but..." He tapped Gideon's peg leg with his cane, eliciting a tap from the two pieces of clacking wood. "...I see that isn't the case."

Gideon shifted his eyes to Hannibal - who was watching them both with silent interest - and they shared a look before he turned them back, drawing them down and back up Chilton in consideration. "You look like you ain't so far off yourself."

Chilton merely grinned at this. "I have you to thank for that. I'm only sorry that the one you have to thank for your ailment is not me. I send goodwill to them."

"Your history isn't going to cause problems, is it?" Hannibal asked, flatly as a warning rather than raised as a question.

Both men didn't shift their gazes from each other. "No." They said simultaneously.

"Good. Then let us continue. Gideon, did I not give you till midday to rest your leg?"

Gideon sighed. "Yes, sir."

He pointed up at the perpendicular sun. "It is midday."

Gideon silently got to his feet, save from a slight groan of both reluctance and strain to carry on with his duties.

"An unfortunate incident befell our Gideon not too long ago, though I'm sure it isn't the most compelling of stories-"

"By all means, tell it. I beg of you." Chilton cut in. "Let me savour what I couldn't witness. It's the least I'll get in retribution for what that bastard did to me."

Hannibal smiled. "He fell from climbing a palm tree while scouting when we came ashore."

Chilton blinked. "Exactly how many times does one have to fall from a palm tree to be amputated?"

Hannibal let out a silvery laugh, amused. "In this case, just one was enough to do it. He had broken it in three places, and it was just me and him at the time miles from any other crew member; we were scouting for a few days. The leg had to go."

"You did it?"

"I did."

Chilton blinked again, twice this time. "And the leg? Did you bury it or leave it?"

Hannibal took a sweeping look over his crew, eyeing Gideon in particular as he spoke. "I imagine it fed the wild boars. Well, the boars we didn't eat ourselves, of course. But then again, all boars look the same. Perhaps we did eat those same boars that ingested poor Gideon’s leg too."

Chilton, being of a decent origin and fathered from respectable loins, didn't know how to respond and flapped his mouth in a flabbergasted motion.

Hannibal turned to face him. "Come on, Chilton. It was a desperate time. There will be plenty of desperate times you'll have to endure out at sea." He began a swift walk as the ship moved out of the docks and into open water.

"But as I was saying," Hannibal continued. "Every crew member knows how to tie and repair the rigging at the minimum. You'll need to learn basic sailing. The job of the Quartermaster is rather like your old occupation of guarding the cells back at Port Royal. Only imagine the prisoners are my crew members. Watch over them, issue out jobs, dish them punishments when needed. You'll be a natural."

"I imagine so," Chilton said quietly.

They strolled up to the bridge.

"This is the navigator and my First Mate, Chiyoh."

Chiyoh retracted the spyglass to extend a hand in greeting. "Pleasure."

Chilton took hold of it half-heartedly at first but held on tightly when he touched her skin. He looked down at the hand then back up again to her face in silent realisation. Chiyoh noticed and they shared a look between them - both acknowledging the obvious. Chilton darted his eyes very quickly to the left at Hannibal in what could only be described as terror. Chiyoh quickly figured out the expression; he was internally cursing himself for being too observant.

He shook away her hand, wiping it quickly down his front like he was ridding himself of her. "Apologies." He pardoned himself for his late response. "I wasn't expecting a- a lad like yourself so young to be in a First Mate position. You have the frame of a cabin boy. Slim-boned even in the fingers."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. "Come again?"

Hannibal grunted in laughter. "I'll have you Chiyoh is a lot tougher than he looks. He'd probably have you wrapped up in knots around the mast. But that would probably be a valuable lesson in how to tie them. In fact, Gideon excels at knots. Why don't you request a lesson from him?"

Chilton looked appalled, the suggestion providing an effective distraction. "I would rather jump the plank."

"Then do."

Chilton was silent for a little while. "Is there no one else who can tie a knot on this ship?"

Hannibal made his expression firm. "Not as good as he can."

Chilton crumbled at the firm look, glancing quickly back at Chiyoh and understanding Hannibal's need for a swift dismissal of his presence. He nodded once and left the bridge without a word, the tapping of his cane against the oak floorboards of the _Whaitri_.

"He knows." Chiyoh said quickly. "He knew straight away."

Hannibal turned to face her, smoothing a rogue strand of hair out of his eye. "I know."

Chiyoh tried to nullify her growing concern, but she hated when Hannibal was explicitly calm. It either meant nothing or incredible trouble. The difficulty was always working out which of the two it was.

"And? If he could work it out so quickly-"

"Chiyoh, he isn't common scum, he was a noble; he knows what respectable women look and feel like. The men out here aren't the type to tell the difference unless it's staring them naked in the face. They're far too used to types from the back-end of brothels to make a connection. Of course he was going to notice."

"You knew he would." Chiyoh looked at her feet.

"Yes. And that he won't talk. You have nothing to fear in that sense, but be wary of him." Hannibal warned. "He is predictably unpleasant when he wants to be. With his newfound knowledge I imagine that in circumstances of you both being alone he will not make it easy for you." He stared out at the ocean as he talked as if he wasn't speaking to her at all. Often their conversations on this topic were conducted in a similar manner.

Chiyoh quirked an eyebrow. "Understood, sir."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the merfolk’s song would sound something like [this](https://m.soundcloud.com/colossaltrailermusic/quiet-moon)
> 
> Whaitri - A devilish cannibal from Maori mythology who wanted to start a nice, cannibal family and so married a mortal ~warrior~ chief nicknamed Man Killer. Only, the husband was too gentle for her, so she had two of his family members killed. Tell me this isn't the S3 plot of Hannibal. I dare you. Even Will means warrior for christ's sake.
> 
> .
> 
> Catch me on my [tumblr](https://italic-ink.tumblr.com/)


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